


Cyclamen Dreams

by vienn_peridot



Series: Citrus Basket [24]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dream Sex, Fighting Kink, Fingerfucking, Grinding, I'm Going to Hell, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Referenced Cumflation, Rough Sex, Rutting, See you fuckers there, Self-cest, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Wet Dream, fighting to fucking, it's playing with yourself!, rip in pieces Deadlock's dignity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: A spacetime accident has stranded three 'versions' of the mech known as both Drift and Deadlock at the same place and time.They all deal with the situation (and severe sexual frustration) in their own ways.





	Cyclamen Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This past week has been garbage in several ways. So I gave twitter people a choice of which unposted thing they wanted to see from the Done Folder and they wanted the Selfcest.  
> Enjoy, you glorious filthy bastards.

It was war.

They moved across the berth as they grappled. Deadlock with his sharp denta bared in a snarl and engine growling threateningly, Drift with a cocky smirk and breathy laughter whenever he wasn’t egging the younger mech on.

It was a damn good thing Drift’s berth was so big. They were never in danger of falling off the edge, no matter how far they rolled together.

Deadlock was holding his own through sheer desperation by this point and he _knew_ Drift could tell. It didn’t stop him though, didn’t stop either of them -they both enjoyed the fight and what came after.

Every time they did this Deadlock improved, fought better, lasted a little longer. It only enhanced the experience for both of them.

Even with Drift going easy on him, even with the unspoken agreement to scale it back to something a little under three-quarters of their full strength it still wasn’t long before Deadlock was overpowered, defeated by Drift’s superior skill and experience to wind up pinned to the berth with a laughing speedster looming over him.

“You’re improving ‘Lock.” Drift’s warm voice next to his audial, full of praise. The prissy accent he’d adopted made everything he said sound pretentious as all Pit but it still lit a fire deep inside him. “Every time we do this it takes a little bit longer to pin you.”

Deadlock still refused to admit that this older Drift was a much better fighter than he was. He refused to openly acknowledge it even when it was clear he’d lost, the older speedster pinning him firmly and his laugh going a little breathless.

Thumbs that ended in blunted claws rubbed against the cables of his wrists, soothing any pinches as Drift shifted his grip to take both of Deadlock’s wrists in one of his own hands. Gentleness; _mercy_. Drift acting magnanimous in his victory as if he didn’t have the same _need_ for violence in his core as Deadlock.As if being all soft like this somehow made him anything other than an extremely capable and ruthless killer.

Deadlock refused to admit that this concern for his comfort –especially over something so tiny that could easily have been ignored- just made his lust burn hotter.

“Shut _up_.” Deadlock growled, wriggling experimentally in Drift’s grip, arching up to push against the unyielding weight of the mech above him. “Cheating slagger.”

“And how am I _cheating_ , hmm?” Drift purred, pressing one of his deliciously curved thighs against Deadlock’s scorching panel. He moved with Deadlock’s half-hearted thrashing, effortlessly keeping the younger mech trapped. “I didn’t have to use any dirty tactics and you’re _still_ pinned.”

Refusing to let his panels open despite the throbbing of his array, Deadlock pressed himself down against Drift’s thigh, engine rumbling with pleasure.

“You know everything I do. You know how I fight, how I’ll react and how to counter _all of it_.” Deadlock replied, enunciating his glyphs in the crassest, lowest-class dialect of Cybertronian that he could think of at that moment. “ _Cheating_.”

“ _Really_ , now?” Drift’s voice wash rich with amusement as he politely angled his thigh so Deadlock would have a better angle to rub himself against it. Blue optics shone with lust that more than matched what was scorching through Deadlock’s frame. “And yet it looks like _you’re_ the one winning here.” Smiling, Drift tapped Deadlock on the tip of his nasal ridge; his finger there and gone again before Deadlock could bite.

Not that he really tried to. By now Deadlock wasn’t really capable of concentrating on about much beyond the firm press of smooth thigh armour against his bare and leaking array. Silky smooth, recently-waxed thigh armour that was pure _heaven_ to rub his valve and spike against. Moaning low in his throat, Deadlock lost himself in the sinful delight of rubbing his array over Drift’s generously offered thigh for a minute or two while his lust-scrambled processors sorted themselves out.

“Pinned and forced to hump your leg for a good time?” Deadlock tried and failed to keep his voice steady. “Doesn’t _sound_ like winning to me.”

Drift laughed, the low purring of his engine thrumming through every point of contact between their frames.

“My apologies.” Somehow Drift was still able to keep his glyphs smooth and even while he was sliding his uncovered array over Deadlock’s upper thigh and hip and spreading slick lube all over. “Here, let me fix that for you.”

The fingers that hand tapped at Deadlock’s nasal ridge were suddenly stroking his abdomen, skating across armour plates and sliding blunted claws through seams as it dropped lower.

Lower.

_Lower_.

Deadlock arched up, his frame betraying him as it sought to get closer to the wicked promise of Drift’s fingers.

A low laugh thrummed through Drift’s frame, vibrating against Deadlock where he pressed the younger speedster to the berth. Deadlock snarled, humiliated. His arousal threatened to fade even as his processor registered the pride and approval in the sound.

Not giving him a chance to think any further, Drift struck.

Two fingers found his opening, sliding unerringly in. The pad of a thumb pressed against his slowly swelling external node cluster, massaging it with the tiniest motions as the older mech gave him time to adjust to the sudden presence inside.

Deadlock froze.

Impaled on two fingers, engine threatening to stall, his jaw dropped as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling of his berthroom and tried to process the waves of pleasure suddenly crashing through his frame.

The instant Deadlock found his mental footing again Drift began moving against him, within him, the older speedsters’ fingers doing heavenly things he hadn’t believed possible. Sliding across slickened valve lining at a steady pace, stimulating all the right places while at the same time his thumb continued to tease gently at Deadlock’s single external node.

It felt good, _damn_ good. Warm, delicious sensation zinging through every line in his frame to damn near _melt_ him. Unfortunately he was aware that it was steadily becoming _not_ _quite enough_ as his frame grew used to the attention.

While Deadlock had finally given in to constant medical pestering and allowed a basic valve model to be reinstalled on his frame, he hadn’t bothered with modifying it. The thing wasn’t customised beyond the bare minimum of colour matching needed to fit with the rest of his frame. Dizzy now with rising charge and the inescapable tide of lust Drift stoked within his frame Deadlock wondered how it might feel if he indulged in a simple mod, if he got another sensornub for Drift to play with.

_Nah. The fragging glitch would half-kill me with teasing._

By now the older speedster was panting almost as hard as Deadlock. His erect spike was sliding over Deadlock’s heavy thigh as his hips worked in unconscious mimicry of his fingers. There were words somewhere, words that would get Drift to stop torturing him with his fingers and get that spike inside him where it would do a far better job at pleasuring him.

Although Drift’s steady pace and thorough attention to sensor clusters still felt good, his relatively slender fingers barely felt like anything now.

Warm, relaxed and so wet that lubricant was running into his armour seams Deadlock suddenly knew that he wanted _more_.

_Needed_ it like he needed energon and winding roads and good hard fights.

“Stop humping my _fucking_ leg and shove it in me already.” Deadlock snarled, the insistent hunger pulsing in his array burning all of his pride-born reluctance to ash. “Or have you forgotten how to spike a mech?”

“So charming.” Drift’s voice was low next to Deadlock’s audial, rough with arousal. “You really know how to seduce a mech.”

The wet tip of Drift’s glossa flicked against a cluster of airflow sensors, his thumb pressing a little harder against that single valve-array sensornub as he did so.

Deadlock’s engine roared, the energon in his lines threatened to explode. He bared his fangs, snarling.

“I’ll do more than _seduce_ if you’re not railing me in the next t-“.

The younger mech’s threat was cut off mid-glyph as Drift withdrew, flipped him with lazy skill and demonstrated what quality upgrades could do for a speedster’s strength as he physically _held_ Deadlock up on his hands and knees, taking all of the younger speedster’s weight until Deadlock caught up with the situation and forced his lust-soaked frame to support itself.

As soon as he was stable Drift was on him, holding his hips in place and teasing at his array with the head of a solidly pressurised shaft. No matter how good it felt sliding against his sensornub, Deadlock wanted that spike _somewhere else_.

“I’m not gonna slaggin’ _break_.” Deadlock snarled, trying to glare back at the mech over his blocky shoulders. “Get _on_ with it.”

“Impatient to be screaming my name?” Drift’s voice was too smug and collected for Deadlock’s liking. “Alright then.”

The angry words building in Deadlock’s vocaliser turned into a shout of pleasure as Drift lined himself up and slid slowly through the desperate cycling of his callipers. He then proceeded to frag Deadlock at a relaxed, deliberate pace that stroked his internal sensors in all sorts of ways fingers just couldn’t manage.

For a moment pride won and Deadlock held as still as he could, trying not to push his hips back into the older speedster and demand more as Drift set the speed of their frag. Holding still let him feel, let him track his progress towards overload. Their charge was building, yes. Steadily but so slowly that Deadlock finally gave up on stubborn pride and let himself start rocking back into Drift. He was rewarded with an immediate increase in pleasure, accompanied by the absolutely delicious sound of Drift moaning.

The older speedster started pressing harder, grinding his spike housing against Deadlock at the end of each long thrust. Deadlock’s engine rumbled approval, especially with the little twist Drift would add that put delightful pressure on his sensornub and sent sparks of hot pleasure shooting up to his spark.

Without warning Drift lurched forward, pulling Deadlock back against him with strength rarely used outside of sparring. Overload rippled through the older mech’s frame, a choking keen reaching Deadlock’s audials as a section near the base of Drift’s spike swelled, prompting the callipers of his valve to cycle down, holding it fast.

Then the first hot flood of nanites spilled into Deadlock, sending the speedster into an overload so strong his optics shut down and his gyros glitched momentarily with the sensation of freefall.

_Frag yes._

Drift moaned and hunched over him, hips twitching uselessly as Deadlock’s frame held tight to his knot and he continued to spill in a drawn-out overload that seemed to last for hours.

When it finally finished Deadlock’s knees gave out. He collapsed in a graceless heap, landing face-down on the berth in a satisfied pile of metal.

Still tied to him by the knot, he pulled Drift down with him. Deadlock had just enough presence of mind left in his post-overload haze to turn his head to avoid breaking either of their nasal struts.

Being pressed between the berth and the mech above him made the pressure inside his valve even more noticeable, although having his softening spike squashed at a very uncomfortable angle beneath his frame took some of the pleasure from the situation.

Snarling, Deadlock wriggled and tried to push himself up with his elbows, fighting the dead weight of the overload-blissed mech lying on him. He had just managed to get his spike to retract when Drift stirred above him.

A heavy hand on the back of Deadlock’s neck forced him back down again, followed by Drift using his elbows to cage him as the hand was replaced with a mouth.

Gentle nips and swipes of a hot glossa over the exposed cabling at the nape of his neck briefly reduced Deadlock to a molten pile of struts. He growled and shifted, baring more of himself to Drift as the older speedster purred and began to roll his hips again. The wet swish and swirl of Drift’s spill within him stretched his lining, kept the older speedster’s spike from doing more than tease at deeper sensors as the knot flirted with his entrance

Deadlock shuddered uncontrollably as Drift groaned luxuriously and overloaded again, pushing the younger mech’s valve towards full capacity. Arousal crackled through his circuits, pulsing in time with his spark as something _shifted_ and _opened_ within him. It must have been some sort of signal because Drift began fragging him with short, sharp jerks of his hips, the knot tying them together pulling against the tight clamp of Deadlock’s frame, the edge of the older mech’s spike housing brushing teasingly against Deadlock’s swollen node cluster.

The next overload from Drift finally pushed Deadlock over with him.

Lost in a sea of bliss the younger speedster didn’t hear his own howl of release or notice the rippling activation of his brooding tank. He _did_ notice the way Drift didn’t stop or even slow his relentless pounding, driving them immediately on towards another peak as his engine roared against Deadlock’s backplates.

It took a full minute of dazed, pleasure-drunk time for Deadlock to figure out what was going on.

“You’re in a slaggin’ rut cycle, aren’t you.” He accused.

A low laugh thrummed through the hot frame pressed against his back, Drift continuing to move tirelessly within him.

“You should _know_ not t’ start something you can’t finish, Deadlock.” The fancy accent was blurring around the edges, thick with lust. “I’m still gonna be filling you long after you can’t overload anymore. By the time my tanks are empty you’re gonna have t’take some of that armour off to ease the pressure.”

Dark excitement shot through Deadlock at the prospect.

_All of us have spark-charge bypasses installed…_

“Bring it, pervert.” Deadlock growled, trying to find the command strings to squeeze his valve around Drift and screw with his maddening pace. “Bring it the _fuck_ on.”

Purring above him, Drift continued to move as best he could, beyond words as the pleasure of a rut cycle consumed him. The nibbling at Deadlock’s neck cables got sloppier, rougher as the older mech’s self-control continued to erode.

Growling with approval at the rougher treatment, Deadlock worked his claws into the berth cover, trying to get some leverage to press back into Drift. All he did was earn himself a harsher nip as he jostled the older mech off-rhythm. Deadlock’s engine revved sharply as a minor overload cascaded through his systems.

“Slag _yes_ , put some fang into it.” He ordered the instant his vocaliser came back online. “Bite me like you _mean_ it.”

Drift’s engine rumbled dangerously against his backplates, fanning the flames of Deadlock’s lust. Pelvic armour ground together as the older speedster pressed deeper into Deadlock, straining to bring their frames closer together. Just as Deadlock thought Drift wouldn’t take the bait he felt the hot press of a mouth closing around bundle of vulnerable neural cabling. The wet heat was followed quickly by sharp pressure as Drift bit down and _growled_ his way through another overload.

Cooling fans shrieked, Deadlock’s engine screaming close to redline as Drift tightened his hold, keeping him still as he thrashed uselessly against the building pleasure. The hot rush of yet more fluid into his too-full valve bordered on painful. There was nowhere for it to go now. His brooding tank was full, valve callipers at maximum extension, spread as wide as they could get. Swirling liquid assaulted his nodes, nanites activated by the heavy charge release of Drift’s overloads tingling against sensory receptors. Drift was sealed in tight, none of the buildup of lubricant and Drift’s spill could escape around the bulge of his knot where it locked them together.

Deadlock was pinned and claimed and stuffed to the brim and he _loved_ it.

Moaning raggedly, Deadlock surrendered to the moment and to the speedster above him. A hot glossa prodded and flicked over his neck cables as he went limp.

Overload approached, fuelled by submission and the attention to his neck cables. The full release Deadlock had been craving moving steadily in to enclose him with tingling anticipation.

It lurked on the edges of his awareness, almost taunting him as he hung in the place where everything was _too_ good, felt like would kill him if it continued to build -but nothing was ever quite enough to push him over. It was exquisite and agonizing and he wanted it to last forever. All thought stopped, everything stopped except the yearning towards an overload hovering just out of reach.

Drift shifted against him, hot breath puffing from every vent as he laved a wet glossa over Deadlock’s bruised neck cables. Whining, frame shuddering with helpless pleasure, Deadlock silently begged the mech to do something, _anything_ to hurry the impending explosion.

Denta ghosted across his neck cables, a high-performance engine revved and settled into a counter-rhythm to his own. Their armour clattered, the berth beginning to rattle against the wall.

Pleasure swelled, charge gathering in waves and beginning to crest.

Deadlock jolted awake, facedown on his berth in a massive puddle of warm lubricant with his entire frame throbbing on the cusp of overload.

An overload that started retreating as he realised what had just happened.

Swearing in every language he knew, Deadlock tried to roll over, determined to finish what the dream had started before hunting the older version of himself down for a little vengeance. Slipping in the mess he’d made, Deadlock tumbled over the side of his berth, ending up on the floor with his back to the solid base and his legs spread to expose his desperate array to the empty room.

Two hands made short work of bringing his charge back up to where it had been. Pumping his spike fast and hard, three fingers massaging sensors inside his valve and the heel of his palm mashed against a reinstalled external node cluster. Pleasure crackled though him, surging higher with every moment. His helm fell back, lolling against the sticky berth. He stared sightlessly up at the ceiling of his quarters as his charge rose and overload inched slowly closer.

It _still_ wasn’t enough.

As good as it felt it just wasn’t quite enough to bring Deadlock to the peak he craved. He knew what would do it, the knowledge hovering in the back of his mind, an illicit, white-plated tease.

Snarling, Deadlock worked his spike harder. Biting his lip for the sweet sting of pleasure-pain he curled his fingers against _that_ spot, the place with more sensors than normal. Lubricant ran down his wrist, dripped to puddle on the floor as static crowded his visual feed.

After several minutes of hard, increasingly frustrated work Deadlock finally gave up. He shut his optics off and imagined the stupid hippy standing over him, working his spike while that delicious wet valve dripped lubricant down the insides of his luscious thighs.

Deadlock’s frame locked up as the charge crested. His back arched and he howled his past-and-future designation to the uncaring ceiling as the wave finally broke over him in a rush of blinding ecstasy.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

In the hallway outside, two eerily similar-looking speedsters heard their designation and stopped. They shared a confused glance as the echoes died away.

“Should we check on him?” The younger one asked.

Drift replayed the brief audio clip still floating in his cache. Certain Kaonite subglyphs tagged to the designation and the tone of frustrated ecstasy to the roar made his engine rev.

“Nah, it’s best to leave him be.” He said, winking at his younger self as he took the other mech by the elbow and gently guided him into resuming their walk, heading off down the corridor. “He’ll find us when he’s ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> This originally began as a gift fic for someone who decided to cut ties. I finished it because of the support and encouragement of awesome people who deserved to be rewarded for their patience with unashamed indulgence in fictional filth.  
> Arohanui to you all.


End file.
